The Tale of the Missing Soldier
by Codywolf
Summary: This is my take on what happens after the final scene int SH2. If Holmes survived, does that mean Moriarity survived? Of course it does, and he's out to get our favorite Doctor, but now how anyone expected. Who will save Watson when he is too far away?


This, my dear readers, is a tale of not the most common of my writings. For you see, my friends, this is not a new tale of Sherlock Holmes, since I did tell you he...left us. No, this is a tale of the cruel world that revolves around the source of your current writer. Me, Doctor John Hamish Watson, am about to tell a tale that I feel needs to be told. It is a cold, cruel tale, but in the end I feel you will find satisfaction.

When you last heard from me, Holmes had just fallen off Reinchenbach Falls. Now, since then I have written numerous other stories about our adventures together, so many of you now know that Holmes was only hiding out. I have lied to you, though, about what I did during Holmes' absence. First off, Mary and I did not lead a very pleasant life. It all began shortly after Holmes' funeral. I had withdrawn from the general public, focusing solely on writing what little was left of Holmes' and mine adventures. Mary was of course worried for my health, but I felt that this writing would be bring me a sense of closure over the whole ordeal. For you see, Sherlock had died, had left me behind. I have seen many dead beings in my life, more than I cared to see, but I did not see Holmes dead. I never saw his body, never had the proof saying he was dead. Having lived with Holmes for so long, I picked up many habits from him and one was the ability to piece a mystery together from a limited amount of facts. Many only saw what they wanted to see, but Holmes had shown me how to see beyond everyone else. I had know, when he had looked at me that final time before taking himself and Moriarity over those falls, what he had in mind, but he had not come back for me, had left me. It was a hard thing to accept for he very well could have been dead somewhere other than the Alps. He had died...supposedly, to save me. The worst thought and the only one I truely wish to speak of is that if Holmes had survived, had Moriarity?

I found myself, only weeks after the funeral and shortly after the honeymoon, making my way to the Defense department. When I had received the letter only days earlier, I thought it a ploy by Mycroft himself to see how I was truly doing. Mary must have told him about the little excitement we had had before leaving for the honeymoon. That package...it could have meant a million different things. And the question mark...had it been Holmes...or Moriarity? Yes, I will admit I had become paranoid, so much so I had started looking into therapists. Between a new batch of nightmares drawing my adventures with Holmes and Afghanistan together and this new found sense of paranoia I found it best to seek help. I had discussed it a little with Mary, but no great length. The less she knew, the safer she was after all. Maybe Holmes had been right, I shouldn't have gotten married. Yes, I would probably have been miserable, but Mary would have been safe.

* * *

><p>When I had entered the Defense Department, I had expected one of Mycroft's men to be waiting, but there hadn't been. I had been told to sit and wait. I didn't have too long to speculate on why I was there. That brief moment started the real nightmare. I had been escorted into a physican's room and examined, completely confused. The doctor, for the life of me I can't remember his name, had looked me over, written something in a file and smiled a cold, evil smile at me, "God save the Queen."<p>

He had handed me a note and led me out, "You'll be headed out in about three days, so go say your goodbyes, Captain."

Captain...no, oh go, no. I don't remember much after that till I finally arrived home. It was raining and I had just stood there, in the doorway, taking in the lovely house Mary had worked so hard on. Mary...what was I going to tell Mary? I didn't have long to think on that because she came flying out of the drawing room, looking greatly relieved, "Oh, John! You had me worried. Mycroft is here and he said he hadn't invited you...John? Dear, what's the matter?"

I could only pull her close, taking in the smell of her hair, feel here warmth as the tears started to flow. This was suppose to be over, all over. Holmes was gone, wasn't he? Moriarity was dead, had to be dead.

"John, are you alright? Why are you crying? John?" Mary was afraid now and had discovered the crumbled piece of paper in my hand. She gently pulled away from me and opened the paper, a hand flying to her mouth. "No."

"What is it?" Mycroft's voice was soft and I brought my eyes up to see him standing a little ways away. I didn't have to answer, he already knew.

Mycroft did everything to stop my deployment, but there was nothing he could do. We all agreed Moriarity was behind it, but we couldn't prove it, couldn't find him. So, three days later, Mary was there on the pier, waving goodbye to me, Mycroft and one of his minions standing behind her, solemn as could be. I just watched, sadness in my heart. It was a cruel joke, one only Moriarity was laughing at. I greatest fear, honestly, was where was Moran? Was he going to be going after me or Mary?

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for Moran to find me. Where else would a doctor be but the medical tent. He had come in, helping another wounded soldier. Our eyes had met briefly and he nodded, helping the man onto a table, "Got caught in an ambush. His leg's in bad shape."<p>

"I'll see what I can do," I stayed calm, just like I always had. Moran had nodded and shook my hand.

"Thanks, Doc. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to him," And with that he had left. I took care of the soldier, patching up his leg before heading out for lunch. Moran was waiting, sitting far away from the other men. I had joined him, each of us picking at our food. I was the one broke the silence.

"You're here to kill me."

"No, Doctor, I am not," Moran chuckled. "But I do know who is. Moriarity abandoned me, just as your Sherlock left you. Only, your man was trying to protect you, wasn't he? Moriarity had no more use for me. A soldier who couldn't complete one simple job isn't of much use to a man like him, now is he?"

I studied him silently for a moment before nodding. He didn't look like Moran anymore and I doubt if Moriarity would have noticed him as fast as I had. He'd grown out his beard and had a few more scars on his face. He'd had some surgery done, enough to fool the average man. But we both knew the game being played here, so we both knew it wasn't enough.

"Why are you here?" I asked calmly, taking a sip from glass.

"I respect you, Doctor," Moran smirked. "That play back at the factory was rather good. And that shot...you didn't want to kill me, did you?"

"No," I nodded, smiling a little myself. "We can't let the other two have all the fun, now can we?"

"No, we can't, but one of us is out for the count I fear," Moran sighed. "I have enough pull with Moriarity yet to know what's going on."

"He sent you after my wife," my heart fell.

"He did, but I couldn't find her," Moran shrugged. "Happens, I guess. He probably sent someone else after her, but he won't know where I am till its too late."

"What is it that you want?" I needed to know, there was too much happening now.

"I'm just here to warn you, Doctor. Watch your back very carefully," Moran stood, nodded, and left. I didn't see him for some time after. I took his advice though, but neither of us saw Moriarity's plan before it was nearly too late.

* * *

><p>Letters from Mary started to come less and less. It started out I would get one once a week, then once every two weeks, then once a month. I had already spent one year away, and I didn't want to spend another, but it seems Moriarity had other plans. Mary's letters started to grow graver and graver and letters from Mycroft started to come as well. Mary's health was failing and they didn't know why. I begged my superior officer to let me go home, let me be with my wife, but he said no every time. I started to dread the letters, for each dug a hole right in my heart. Between Mary's ever shortening letters to Mycroft's long list of symptoms, it was taking a toll on me. The men were starting to notice as well. I don't blame them either. Who wouldn't notice that doctor who was already too thin get thinner and thinner or the bags under his eyes from sleepless nights?<p>

This was all part of Moriarty's plan to get Holmes, but Holmes seemed to not be biting and if I had known what was happening, I would have been mad.

It was a private who delivered that last letter from Mycroft. A bright, young lad, full of promise. Didn't he see what war did to you? Mycroft tried to be nice about it all, but then again Mycroft wasn't Mycroft, was he? Mary...she never woke up from an afternoon nap. She was gone...just like Holmes...and there had been nothing for me to do. I had let them both down.

Everyone knew, they just did. I didn't say anything, didn't cry. You see, I knew my end was near. Mary was gone and Holmes would know what that would do to me. And knowing that, it would hurt him. All that was left in the game was to kill me and I am sure it would be slow and painful. I grew tired of waiting, tired of the looks from the men and volunteered to go out with a patrol. My fate was sealed when my superior officer said yes.

It was timed perfectly. We were too far away from camp for anyone to hear us, but not too far for a man to get away and get back to camp to get help. He wanted them to know I had been taken. He wanted them to know I was suffering. He wanted Holmes to know.

I don't remember much of my time at the mercy of the mad Afghan warriors or even if they were truly Afghan men, but it all came to a clear ending. I remember being tied outside and it was dark, so night time. I was strung up by my wrists to a wall on the outside of the compound, where I had been left to die. I wasn't thinking of much at all, really. Nothing of Mary or Holmes or Gladstone or Mrs. Hudson or even Mycroft. I just stared blankly up at the night sky, which was clear that night. All the stars blinked lazily down at me, in my mind mocking me. I didn't notice the shadow approached, but I felt the strong hand cover my mouth, which I found rather wasteful. I couldn't talk let alone yell at the moment, my throat dry and bruised from earlier abuse.

"Doctor, I need you to remain quiet. We don't have much time," it was Moran, stupid, foolish Moran. I nodded all the same and the hand left my mouth, the arm it was attached to firmly wrapping around my waist. The other hand quickly cut me free. I was thankful for the support, for I was not capable of much at the time. Moran slung me over his shoulders and once again disappeared into the darkness, this time accompanied by me. He had a horse hidden well away from the compound and quickly got me on board, taking his place behind me, keeping me up right as the horse charged out over the sands. He didn't speak for some time, but when he did, it was soft and slightly concerned, "Doctor? Watson? Are you still with me?"

I let my head roll slightly from its place on his shoulder so he could see my open eyes and he nodded, "Good. I need you to listen to me and listen to me well. Your wife is alive and safe. Moriarity has been intercepting your letters and her's, tricking you while trying to find her. No such luck for him. The Holmeses have her well hidden, as well as that Mrs. Hudson person. They grew worried when they were getting nothing from you, but I was able to contact them and let them know you were well. When that young lad came running into camp, I knew Moriarity was ready to move the game forward. It was close, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I rasped out, letting my eyes slip close. Mary was alive. My Mary, alive. Wait...he had said Holmeses...My eyes snapped back open, wide. Moran smirked and nodded.

"Yes, Sherlock is back. He's waiting for us with some of Mycroft's men in a little port not far from here. You'll be back with Mary before Christmas, Doctor," Moran smirked.

"Christmas?" I was confused.

"You, sir, have been missing for quite sometime. It's December now and nearly Christmas," Moran shook his head. "Just rest, Doctor. You're safe now."

Safe? I didn't know if that was true or not, but I didn't feel like arguing at that time, especially with a man who could easily kill me whenever he wanted. I must have blacked out because the next thing I knew, I was hearing Sherlock's voice from nearby. I felt like I had been run over by one of those new automobiles and not just once mind you. I was certain I was on a boat, both by the smell and the rolling motion I could clearly feel through the bed as was nestled in.

"...come now, John, you can't sleep through this adventure. I can't do this one all on my own, although I have been doing very well so far. Why must you always miss the good parts, old chap? Is that a grey hair? You've been letting yourself go, John, "Sherlock did like to yammer on and on.

"I don't...have...grey hair," I rasped out, slowly opening my eyes. I was greeted by Sherlock's face, a full blown smile on his face. He leaned forward and helped me sit up and take a small drink from a cup.

"You had be scared, Watson, very scared," Sherlock laid me back down. "If we hadn't gotten word from Moran about what was happening, I fear..."

"You were dead," I looked him over. "I see...it didn't agree...with you."

"I am glad to see you are in better spirits," Sherlock sighed. I could see some of the tension leaving him, proving, at least to me, that he could care. "Now, you need to rest. It was a close call there, old boy, and I really do think Mary will be beside herself when she finally sees you."

"Is she..." I wasn't allowed to finish as another voice cut in.

"I already told you, Doctor, that your wife was safe," I followed the sound to see Moran leaning agains the door to my room, smirking. "Are you forgetful now, too?"

"Mary is safe with Mycroft. We'll be headed straight for them once we land," Sherlock sent Moran a glare. "And I promise she hasn't been thrown out of any trains."

I tried to chuckle, but it turned into a cough. I saw Moran tense a little as Sherlock lifted me up slightly, easing the strain off my chest, "Easy, old boy. Just rest. We won't let anything happen to you."

"Don't...don't kill...each other..." I manage to gasp out before the darkness took me once more.

* * *

><p>I had never been so happy to see Mary as when Sherlock wheeled me into the sitting room of one of Mycroft's many homes. A giant tree was set up in the corner and Mary was busy adding ornaments to it. She was just as beautiful as she had been that day at the pier. I never wanted to leave her ever again. I also wanted to lift her up and hold her close, but that was impossible. I was to be confined to the wheelchair for at least three weeks, maybe more, till my body was healed up enough. I didn't care. I was home, with Mary and Sherlock and everyone else. Even Moran was with, somehow becoming my own personal bodyguard. Don't ask me to explain it, for the answer is something only men like Moran and myself truly understand.<p>

Mary turned with she heard Holmes clear his throat and when she saw me both of her hands flew to her mouth, tears in her eyes. I didn't know if it was from joy or horror, but I didn't want to see Mary cry. I tried to push myself up, but Holmes forced me back down and Mary rushed forward, wrapping her arms gently around my neck, "Oh, John!"

I wrapped my good arm around her, pulling her close. I never wanted to let her go, ever and she seemed to understand, "Oh, John, its alright. I won't leave your side, but there's something I need to show you."

I gently let her go, looking up at her. She smiled and pulled away. She moved gracefully over to one of the chairs turned towards the tree and picked up the most precious thing I have ever seen, "His name is James Sherlock Watson, just like you wanted."

I...I had a son. I had a son...Mary was by my side once again, wiping the tears from my face while gently setting the little boy in my lap. He had golden brown hair and pale blue eyes. He smiled up at me, his tiny hands grabbing hold of my jacket. He giggled and I looked horrified up at Mary, who just smiled, "I fear he has spent too much time with his Uncle Sherlock."

I looked up at him and he nodded, giggling a little himself, just like the babe in my arms, "He doesn't cry when I hold him."

Moran shook his head and took a seat in one of the chairs facing us, smiling a little, "I take it Mycroft is dressed?"

"He should be," Mary sighed, but didn't move from my side. She gently took my chin in her hand and turned my face so her forehead was pressed against mine. "You, John Watson, are a brave man. Don't ever let anyone tell you other wise."

I nodded, not knowing what else to do. I was safe, at last, with my family. It was months later before I was able to get around with a cane and months more before I even dared tried walking with out the cane. Oh how James grew. He was a bright boy, so very bright. He looked so much like his mother and he was such a good brother to his two other siblings, Simza Martha and Hamish Ebenezer. Irene appeared not long after I returned and finally settled Sherlock down and I am sorry to tell you that yes, there are little Sherlocks running around. There's Donny Mycroft and little Adele now. Moran stayed around, helping around the house. Him and Simza, who stayed around to help Mary when I left, get along fairly well and their wedding is soon. Moriarity does not get such a happy ending, for he was found hanging in what had once been his office, a bullet through his head and his heart. Lestrade shut that case fairly quickly, saying Moriarity was killed by one of his students. The student in question was found dead a few weeks later in the her quarters.

Mary and I are still together after ten long, lovely years of marriage. We "watch" one of Mycroft's homes for him. Sherlock will occasionally come and get me for this mystery or that, but it has slowly died off. That last adventure seemed to take it right out of him and I won't deny it, it took it out of me as well. He is never too far away, living in the other half of the house with his family. Sadly, none of you will ever know the truth. It was decided, as a group, that the truth be withheld. Some things in life can be left without knowing.

I have lied to you, but it is a lie I am happy to make. For you see, its just like Holmes jumping off that balcony. I did it to protect those I cared for most.

Sincerly,

Doctor John Hamish Watson.


End file.
